Black and Blue: An Inspector Rebus Mystery (Inspector Rebus Novels)
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Bible John killed three women, and took three souvenirs. Johnny Bible killed to steal his namesake's glory. Oilman Allan Mitchelson died for his principles. And convict Lenny Spaven died just to prove a point. "Bible John" terrorized Glasgow in the sixties and seventies, murdering three women he met in a local ballroom--and he was never caught. Now a copycat is at work. Nicknamed "Bible Johnny" by the media, he is a new menace with violent ambitions.
The Bible Johnny case would be perfect for Inspector John Rebus, but after a run-in with a crooked senior officer, he's been shunted aside to one of Edinburgh's toughest suburbs, where he investigates the murder of an off-duty oilman. His investigation takes him north to the oil rigs of Aberdeen, where he meets the Bible Johnny media circus head-on. Suddenly caught in the glare of the television cameras and in the middle of more than one investigation, Rebus must proceed with caution: One mistake could mean an unpleasant and not particularly speedy death, or, worse still, losing his job.
Written with Ian Rankin's signature wit, style and intricacy, Black and Blue is a novel of uncommon and unforgettable intrigue.
Zane’s handshake, the way it had tingled. And Zane’s impressions of Bible John – though Stevens had been present, the paper hadn’t bothered printing them. A trunk in the attic of a modern house. Well, Rebus could have come up with better than that himself, if some paper had put him up in a posh hotel. Lumsden had put him up in a posh hotel, probably thinking CID would never know. Lumsden had tried to get pally with him, telling him they were alike, showing Rebus that he had stature in the city –
himself and then dead. I’d say it was straight assassination, with a bit of malicious cruelty thrown in.’ ‘So was he thrown or did he jump?’ ‘Does it matter?’ ‘Very much, John.’ MacAskill stood up, leaned against the filing cabinet with his arms folded. ‘If he jumped, that’s tantamount to suicide, even if they had been planning to kill him. With the bag over his head and the way he was trussed up, we’ve got maybe culpable homicide. Their defence would be that they were trying to scare him, he
said to himself. He shook his head, but Rebus could see he was halfway convinced. He stared at Rebus, who tried to look as beaten as a man could be – no great acting required. ‘There’s a Scottish Crime Squad operation coming,’ Rebus said. ‘Lumsden and Fletcher are in their pockets.’ ‘They’re dead men,’ Fuller said at last. ‘Why stop when you’re having fun?’ A cold, wicked smile. Fletcher and Lumsden were for the future: but Rebus was right here. ‘We’ll go for a little ride,’ Fuller said.
know, in case we ever got him in the back. But he looked like any other punter, there were dozens fit the description. We almost had a few lynchings. They had to give out cards to some of them: “This man is not Bible John”, signed by the Chief Constable.’ ‘What do you think happened to him?’ ‘Ach, who knows? At least he stopped, that’s the main thing, eh?’ ‘If he stopped,’ Rebus said quietly. The third address was Earl Street in Scotstoun, the victim’s body found on Hallowe’en. The sister, who
coquette, minx, relaxed, sharp-eyed, calculating, amused … ‘Who tipped you off about the inquiry?’ he asked. ‘You mean who tipped the media in general, or me personally?’ ‘Whichever.’ ‘I don’t know who started the story, but one journalist told another and it spread from there. A friend of mine on Scotland on Sunday phoned me; she knew we were covering the Spaven case already.’ Rebus was thinking: Jim Stevens, standing on the sideline like the team manager. Stevens, Glasgow-based. Chick